


Telegraph Ave.

by bikuai



Series: My CTO is a Hipster [2]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, I am the sole pioneer of the Dusan/Reader tag, Reader is in grad school, pre-Blume, this fic takes place sometime when Dusan and Reader are done with college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai
Summary: I took off my nine to five, but you still don't have the time to kiss me.





	Telegraph Ave.

**Author's Note:**

> Another songfic.
> 
> Telegraph Ave. by Childish Gambino

His eyes skimmed over the screen as he typed away at the keyboard. The sound of the keys was thunderous in the silence of the night, and the monitor was the only source of lighting in the room, the sun having set hours ago. Though, of course, Dusan didn't notice, engrossed in his work as always. There were deadlines to meet, and code to be written; he couldn't afford to rest, especially now.

It had started as a side project of his, but over time morphed into somewhat of a second occupation. Dusan spent every free second of his evenings buried neck deep in algorithms and nested data structures. The project, dubbed CTOS, was supposed to work as a security system for the city. In theory, it would be able to store information on inhabitants of the city and gather new information with the help of surveillance. As of now, there were minimal capabilities of the program, and it had already spent months in pre-alpha. The future of the system seemed uncertain.

_"Damn it."_

Another error message appeared, seemingly the result of one he had fixed earlier. Letting out a defeated sigh, he shifted back in his chair, his eyes drifting shut. It was late and he should be in bed, not sorting through the endless supply of errors the code produced. Even so, he vowed to stay up. And if this was going to keep him awake, then so be it. It would only have to last until you got home.

Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his muscles, Dusan sighed. He couldn't possibly imagine what type of classes would keep you up this late studying. The temptation to call and check up on you was strong, but he held back. You'd be home soon enough. Instead, he turned his focus back to the monitor and the error that mocked him from the command line.

He steeled himself mentally as he put his elbows up on the desk and clasped his hands together. His eyes scanned over the screen slowly, surveying the code. Even with its tendency to not want to work, there were always compromises to be made, and he just had to find them. Yet still, it was frustrating— _incredibly_ frustrating at times. And it didn't help that his hair kept slipping into his face, irking him even further. He kept having to tuck it behind his ear, only for it to fall back to where it was before.

Sighing in exasperation, he stood from his desk and proceeded to grab a hair tie off the nearby nightstand. Making quick work of his hair, Dusan pulled it into the most pathetic looking ponytail to ever graze the face of the Earth. Loose and messy, his hair stuck out at all kinds of weird angles in the back. Unsatisfied, he took it down then tied it up again, only to get similar results. It was useless; he would just have to bear with it.

Though this wasn't particularly the most elegant appearance, it did manage to keep his hair out of his face. Dusan figured that made his up-do attempt somewhat of a success. His hair was just barely long enough to be pulled back, so the strands at his nape had slipped from the hairband. Even so, Dusan didn't mind as it had no effect on his sight.

No longer distracted by his messy hair, Dusan turned his attention back to task at hand. He still had that annoying error message to— Before he could even sit back down, he heard the familiar sound of your key turning in the lock to your shared one bedroom flat.

Even though you had moved in several weeks ago, Dusan never quite got used to the feel of having someone coming home to him every night. You rarely saw each other during the day, so the few moments he had with you in the evenings was the staple of your interaction between one another. To Dusan, staying up to greet you only felt natural at this point, if only to prove his commitment. Why bother living together if you never even got to see each other?

In all honesty, he hoped to find more time for you. This routine of only talking late at night and occasionally bringing you lunch wasn't going to cut it. That type of relationship wasn't sustainable, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it tore a rift between you. With the both of you so invested in your work, a compromise seemed impossible. Dusan couldn't ever ask you to put your studies on hold for him, but at the same time, he couldn't push CTOS to the side when it was this far along in development.

By the time you had locked the door behind you, Dusan was already waiting for you on the leather loveseat in the living room. Thoughts of programming and databases fled his mind at the sight of you. Dressed in a light jacket and jeans, you weren't wearing anything special, but he eyed you adoringly. There was no doubt that he was happy to see you.

"Hey," you greeted him as you shrugged off your backpack, setting it at the foot of the couch. It was a relief to have it off your back, and you sighed while massaging your sore shoulders. After a long day of classes and studying, you didn't mind falling into the couch and letting youself relax.

Dusan turned to you, "How was your day?"

Sinking further into the soft cushions, you let your eyes drift shut. "It was fine, I guess," you replied.

He frowned at your response. "Doesn't seem like it. Wanna talk?" His right arm comes up to rest behind your head, and you turn to look at him.

The first thing you notice is the absence of hair framing his face; he has it pulled back, which is oddly fitting. His grey eyes have bags under them, evidence of his sleep schedule, or lack thereof. You probably looked the same, from all your time spent face down in a book. His beard is longer than usual and more unkept as a result, but you can't help but find it the slightest bit attractive. It framed his mouth perfectly and rose into shapely sideburns.

For a moment, you almost don't realize that you've been staring at his lips, and your eyes flick up to meet his, finding something unreadable in his gaze.

"Uh, I—yeah, just let me get something to drink," you stuttered, pulling away and rising from the loveseat. In the kitchen, you filed through the pantry then the fridge. The former usually held most of your favorite drinks, but now contained nothing to your liking. You would have to pay a trip to the store later this week. In the fridge, however, you did manage to find a bottle of orange juice. Thinking it would be good enough to sate your cravings, you pulled out a wine glass for the citrusy beverage.

After pouring it almost to the brim, you walked back to living area, glass in hand. You set it down carefully on a coaster with a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge, and relaxed back into the cusions.

"...So?" Dusan asks, inquiringly. You can tell he's eager to hear out your problems and discomforts.

"I'm tired," you sigh, pursing your lips. It's not a lie but not an accurate description either. The words to explain it accurately evaded you, leaving your melancholy as an unamed entity. Concerns of school, work, and your personal life weighed heavy on your mind. Everything revolves around the next assignment or exam or the date that Dusan wants to take you on, but you can't because you're working a shift that night.

It was overwhelming at times. Days would pass where you felt like your efforts were amounting to nothing, and for every step you took, another flight of stairs appeared. The stress alone threatened to crush you and if not for the fact that you were passionate about your major, you would have quit a long time ago.

Adding work and a relationship didn't lessen the fact that your main focus was your education. If there was compromises to be made, it would be at the cost of your job and Dusan. Things were now to a point where you worked pathetically few hours each week and spent even less time with the person who you were suposedly in love with. Sitting here with him, knowing that he had been waiting for you all night, broke your heart. You couldn't help but feel that you were sabatoging his lifestyle by making him conform to yours.

You reached down to take a sip of your orange juice, and as you did, you knew what had to happen. You couldn't let things go on like this anymore, and after a moment of mulling it over, you found your words.

"Dusan, we have to break up." You looked him in the eyes when you said it, watching as his expression shifted from shock to worry to franticness. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was almost as if his thoughts couldn't keep up with the sudden mix of emotions.

You could agree that the revelation was abrupt and unexpected. You had never mentioned anything before about being unsatisfied with the relationship, or wanting time away from him. If anything, you had been the one wanting to put away more time to be together. But of course, things had come up and ruined the future you had in mind.

By now, Dusan had found his words and was pleading for you to reconsider your decision. He began speaking of promises and arrangements that could be made to preserve your relationship, anything to keep you at his side. You didn't bother listening to him, instead putting a hand to his cheek and speaking softly.

"Dusan," he fell silent at the sound of your voice, "I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I just feel like our relationship isn't how it used to be. The inconsistent schedules and never having time for one another was one thing, but now you're going out and buying orange juice with pulp? I can't take it anymore, Dusan. I'm sorry, but we're done."

"Babe, I didn't mean—well I sorta did, but I can buy pulp free orange juice from now on, if that will make you happy." He stuttered, in an attempt to sate your grievances.

"That's not good enough, Dusan. The fact that you would buy it in a first place shows that we really aren't compatible after all." You struggle to suppress the smile on your face, attempting to maintain a serious demeanor.

However, Dusan catches on quickly and a playful grin breaks out on his face as well.

"Don't joke with me like that!" He says, pulling you into a hug and peppering your cheeks with kisses. You giggle with him and let his lips feather down your neck.

"I wasn't joking! Pulp is disgusting!" You laugh as he continues to tickle you, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Firmly putting your hands on his shoulder, you push him back just enough to see his face.

Even with the absurd hairdo and lengthy beard, he still looks as attractive as the first time you met. Bright eyes alight with amusement, lips curled into a teasing smirk, and eyebrows quirked slightly, Dusan made your heart flutter. It felt like all of a sudden you were in college again, crushing on the nerd in your computer science class.

Now, that same man was in front of you, albeit a little older, but still as charming ever. He held you in his arms as if you were the only other person on Earth, and you knew, in his mind, that you were. You only wished you could have more moments like this. You hadn't been joking when you said that you felt like you never had time for each other. Though, you did have a sliver of hope that things would turn out better.

Clearing your mind of introspective thoughts, you pulled Dusan into a comforting embrace. He is warm, and you can smell his shampoo. His hand rubs soothing circles on your back as you rest your chin on his shoulder.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I love you, too," he murmurs back.

\-----

"You know, if I quit my job, we'd have time to go to Sizzler's like you want."

Dusan snorted, "Would you really do that for me?"

You leaned in and pecked his lips, "Maybe...but only if you admit that pulp is nasty and ruins orange juice."

"As if I'd ever say that," he said, rolling his eyes. "Now go to sleep; you have class tomorrow."

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this has been sitting in my drafts for six months.
> 
> Based off [this](http://conspiracieys.tumblr.com/post/161834589042/imagine-younger-dusan-wearing-his-hair-down) ask on tumblr.
> 
>    
> [my tumblr](http://bikuai.tumblr.com)


End file.
